


The Exception that Proves the Rule

by bees_stories



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 12:44:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Irene Adler, Sherlock Holmes is the exception that proves the rule. When they end up sharing a hotel room after her brush with death, it goes without saying that seducing him is at the top of her 'to do' list. What she doesn't count on is Sherlock's conflicted feelings towards one Dr John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Exception that Proves the Rule

***

"Ha. Ha. Very amusing." Sherlock extended his hand. "My towel, if you please." 

"I'm merely balancing the scales." Irene glanced over at the stack of towels she'd appropriated, and instead of complying with Sherlock's request, rose to her feet and stretched her arms languorously over her head. "You've had a chance to take my measure." She raked her glance slowly down his body and then up again to meet his eyes. Sherlock Holmes fascinated her in a way that was hard to describe. Irene had been beguiled by him from their first meeting and she knew he felt the same, curious attraction towards her even though it was just as foreign to his nature as it was to hers. "Now it's my chance to take yours. I must say, you don't disappoint, my dear Sherlock." 

"Irene." There was a warning tone in Sherlock's voice that only caused her to smile. 

"Oh, am I being naughty? Are you tempted to take me over your knee?" She cast a sly glance through the veil of her eyelashes and brushed her lips with the tip of her tongue. "I'll admit I'm used to having it the other way 'round, but in your case, I'm more than willing to make an exception." She took a few more steps, closing the distance between them, and circled around until she stood at his back. She reached out and trailed a fingertip through a rivulet of water that trickled from the nape of his neck to the top of his buttocks and watched as his muscles tensed ever so slightly under her caress. 

Sherlock pivoted sharply, catching her wrist in his grasp before she could move away. His grip was firm, just enough to arrest her movement without causing pain. She looked up and saw the conflict in his eyes. He wanted her, and yet something was holding him back. She chuckled. She didn't mean to, but the situation was so deliciously ironic. "Don't tell me you're saving yourself for him." His grip tightened, just for a few seconds. Irene smiled even though the pressure hurt. 

"Don't be absurd," he said, but the automatic denial rang false. 

"As you like." Irene stepped close enough for him to feel the heat radiating off her naked skin. "But it does cause me to wonder why, my dear Sherlock, aren't you taking what's so freely on offer?" She raised herself up onto her toes and kissed a trail from his Adam's apple to his breastbone. She nipped him there for good measure and smiled to herself as Sherlock's hand came to rest at the back of her head, holding her in place. She lapped drops of water from his skin and then bit down softly. With her free hand, she trailed her fingertips from his flank to his hip. Sherlock released her and gently pushed her away. 

Her teasing yielded gratifying results. She advanced again. "Tell me, Sherlock, in your private moments whose hand is doing this?" She wrapped her fingers around his erection and gave it a squeeze. "Is it his? Is it mine? Is it both of ours together?" She worked Sherlock's shaft with both hands, using slightly firmer pressure on the right from the left, as if two different people were doing the pleasuring. "If you like, I can give you some tips on how to break down his resistance." His shaft jumped under her fingers. Once again Sherlock's body had betrayed him. He wanted her, but he wanted _him_ more.

"Irene." His tone was chiding. "Do shut up about John." 

His kiss was without finesse. Sherlock crushed his lips against hers, and Irene suspected it was as much to make sure she followed his order as it was a lack of experience. She hitched a leg over his hip. He swept her into his arms and carried her over to the bed. They landed with a bit of a thump, and they both chuckled as the towels landed on the floor. "Kiss me again," Irene whispered. 

Sherlock did. The kiss was gentle and more contemplative and felt as if he were a step removed; as if he was as much an observer as a participant in the act. Irene realised it was his relentless need to catalogue information kicking into gear. He needed help shutting off his brain. 

If he were one of her clients, she might just correct him sharply with a snap of her riding crop. She knew he was a public school boy, born of privilege and accustomed to obeying the orders of nannies and governesses. It was possible, as with many of her clients of a similar background, that he was still bent to respond to that sort of correction. It might be fun to hear Sherlock Holmes reply to her with a submissive, 'Yes, miss.' She carded her fingers through his still damp curls, and offered her throat instead.

Abruptly, Sherlock was very much in the moment. He sucked her earlobe in between his teeth and delicately nipped it as he simultaneously cupped her breasts. He made a sound of pleased contentment as she shivered under his mouth and her nipples hardened in response to his worship of her body. His kisses trailed down her neck and over her breasts. She sighed and shifted against the mattress and gripped at his shoulders as his hand trailed over her hip, sending a flood of want straight through her. 

Sherlock's caresses faltered. Irene opened her eyes and saw the same uncertainty in his gaze that had prompted her earlier teasing. He pulled away and sat up. "I don't understand. This feels … disloyal. Why does this feel disloyal?" It seemed he was asking the question of himself more than her. 

Irene sighed and held her tongue. At other times, she might have found his indecision worthy of mockery and poked more fun, but she sensed this was a critical moment. Instead, she cupped her hands around her knees and waited and watched as Sherlock's expression shifted like the view through a kaleidoscope as he tried to decide where his loyalties lay. 

He reached for her again. His kiss was ruthless, as hard and unyielding as his earlier caresses had been tender. He pushed her down onto the pillows, his body pressed hers into the mattress as he attempted to lose himself in the moment. There were condoms under the pillow. Irene had placed them there earlier. She groped with her fingertips for a plastic square and raised it into Sherlock's line of sight as he pushed her thighs apart with his knee. 

He reached for the sachet and Irene pulled it away out of his grasp. "Let me," she said. He nodded once, and licked at his lips. She could see his pulse jump in his throat. She tore the wrapper without ceremony and rolled the latex sheath into place. She wanted him, but he wanted _him_. She rolled over onto her knees and elbows and spread her legs, not wanting to see Sherlock's face as he pretended that he was with someone else. 

He placed his palm again her hip and ran a fingertip over her clit, feeling the slick wetness of her arousal. She shuddered as her muscles contracted on air. "Thank you, but no." Sherlock cupped her breasts and pulled her up to kneel. "It's you I'm with. It's your face I want to see." 

For a moment Irene felt a sense of overwhelming tenderness wash over her, but she knew she couldn't give in to mawkishness. "On your back then," she ordered.

Sherlock frowned, but complied. Irene knelt astride him, one hand wrapped firmly around his shaft as she used the other to pinch her nipples. She lowered herself slowly down onto the head of his cock and then withdrew, rubbing it over her clit instead. The look of increasing frustration on Sherlock's face as she played with herself nearly made up for his earlier display of indecision. 

"Please!" His cry was low and hoarse and its needy insistence sent a shiver of answering want straight through her. 

Irene smiled as she recalled a long ago conversation. "I told you I could make you beg." 

"You said twice," he corrected. "And I seem to recall a table being involved." 

"Details," Irene replied as Sherlock made a grab for her hips. She brushed them away and then sank down onto his shaft. She rode him slowly, pulling off until he was barely sheathed and then sinking down far enough to rub against his groin before pulling off again. 

Sherlock growled at her. "You're teasing."

"I'm merely making sure I have your complete attention." Irene put a bit of governess in her tone and watched in amusement as Sherlock's mouth twitched in response. 

"Oh, you have," he said promptly.

"Good boy." She upped her tempo, brushing hard against the springy curls of his pubic thatch as she ground against his pelvis and contracted a series of internal muscles. Sherlock found his own rhythm, counterpoint to hers. He thrust against her, raising his hips and rocking them until she was forced to reached forward and grab onto his biceps. "Quick study," she gasped. 

Sherlock waited until she was nearly unseated and then rolled them until Irene ended up on her back. He pinned her between his legs and began to thrust in earnest. His back became sweat-damped and his face contorted. 

Irene gave into his passion. She ceded control and closed her eyes. The pleasure spark ignited. She writhed in Sherlock's embrace, echoing his gasps and moans as it grew inside of her. He clutched at her and then stilled. She teetered on the brink of oblivion and held him in place as he threatened to pull away. "I need – " 

He pulled out but a second later his hand was there, thrusting inside of her and rubbing at her swollen clit. "Like this?"

She gasped. And then she came. It was all she could do to hang on to Sherlock as the sparks flew against her eyelids.

***

"You have my permission," Irene said later as they drowsed under a slowly rotating ceiling fan that did little to keep the heat at bay.

Sherlock frowned at her. "Your permission to what?" 

"To be happy."

The frowned deepened. "I don't follow."

She propped her arms against his chest and touched Sherlock's cheekbone, remembering when it had been carefully marred by the strike of a fist. "You won't give yourself permission, so I'm doing it for you. Trust me, darling, there's a man back in London who's just waiting for you to make the first move." 

Sherlock captured her wrist and kissed her palm. "And what of you?" 

Irene's breath caught in her throat. Sherlock Holmes was definitely the exception that proved the rule. "In the unlikely event our paths cross again, I look forward to a return match." She glanced at the bedside clock and sighed. "I've got a train to catch." 

He pulled her down into a kiss and then let her go. Irene felt oddly reluctant as she got out of bed. She could feel Sherlock's eyes upon her as she took her travelling clothes out of the wardrobe and began to dress. 

"You said you could help me." There was a surprising hesitancy in Sherlock's tone. "Break down John's resistance." 

Irene smiled, although she had a blouse dropped half over her head so Sherlock couldn't see. "He loves you, that's half the battle won," she said as she straightened her collar. "But you've got two problems. The first is he's straight. But lucky for you, that's not half the problem it seems. For you, he'd make an exception." 

"You seem awfully confident," Sherlock said.

She shrugged at him. "that's personal experience speaking, my dear Sherlock. As a rule, I prefer the company of woman." 

"And the second?" 

"He's got it into his head that you're not interested."

Sherlock winced. "Ah. I did make mention of the fact I was married to my work." 

Irene eyed herself in the mirror. The clothes were a perfect fit. She had to admire Sherlock's eye for detail. She turned back to him and shrugged. "Then let him know you're open to having an affair." 

As she pinned up her hair and applied the cosmetics he'd purchased for her, Sherlock dressed in a conservatively cut business suit. He came to stand at her side as she inspected herself one last time before the mirror. Strangers looked back at her. She wondered from where the altruistic woman and the solemn looking man who hung on her every word had sprung. 

"One last piece of advice. The pair of you have built a scene with rules and codes of conduct. In order to change those dynamics you're going to have to break through the barriers John's built up. He thinks they're there to protect you from himself, so he's going to fight, even though it's what he wants." 

Sherlock looped both their travel bags over his shoulder. Hers was new, black, and matched her handbag and shoes. His was worn brown leather and looked like it had seen a considerable number of miles. 

"How do I do that?" 

She turned and stroked his cheek. The stubble he'd neglected to shave made him nearly irresistible. "You're good at setting things in motion, Sherlock. Just find an opening and exploit it." She gave him a pat on the bum and opened the door. Their time was nearly at an end and somewhere for her a new life waited. "Chop. Chop." 

"Yes, Miss Adler," Sherlock replied primly. 

It was all Irene could do to stop herself from slamming the door shut and pinning Sherlock against it.

end


End file.
